La Cuna

I remember my mother singing this lullaby to me when I was clamped in the typical Tixputo crib: * acula nuca, laña cuña llana, cuca la ñuca luna. * anula caca luna, cal nunca, aulla, “Ña Cuca-Luna, acuna *-llaca!” Una uña — clac! — a luna cuña la “lunalaclanu analcu.”

A possible Appalachian version goes like this: The cradle supports the nape, clamps the flat wedge, charms the jointless (i.e., full) moon. The cradle nixes the sulks, but is never too stern, and cries out, “ Mrs. Cunt-Moon, rock the scruffy little pouch-rat’s cradle!” A fingernail — squeak! — invents (a neologism), “sclorpion-moon-town-beyond-the-river.”

For the Flouzianians: Le berceau adosse la nuque, serre la cale plate, aguiche la lune sans doigts. Le berceau annule le mal luné, dur jamais, hurle, “Mme. Con-Lune, berce le berceau du zigoto!” Un ongle — scliffe! — a la lune invente “scorplunion-hameau-à-travers-la-rivière.”

And my fellow Tixputanita, Ouida, Appalachifies it thus: This crib constrains a baby’s baldback napcomb, binds flat and conical its skull’s front, charms a dactyl-lacking moon. This crib puts paid to your surly moods, but ain’t too strict, and howls, “Ms. Moon-Cunt, rock that scruffy bastard pouch-rat’s crib!” A digit-claw — scriiiiik! — against that moon scratch-coins, “sclorpimoon-town-across-that-nullah” (that is, Tixpu).

« Sonaron muy pertinentes estas palabras ensayísticas, dichas allí, nada menos que en * misma del género literario del ensayo. »
— E. Vila-Matas, Doctor Pasavento